Thus it was arranged.
“I might as well stop here,” said Minnie, “until I’m more settled, anyway.”
Mr. Petersen agreed, and as he didn’t think it proper that his visit should be a long one, rose to take leave. He clasped Minnie’s hand over the head of her child.
“A brave, fine, sensible woman!” he thought.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I
As an office worker Minnie was not so successful as Mr. Petersen had anticipated. Not by any means. She tried; she was very earnest and, in a way, painstaking, but it was extremely difficult to teach her anything. Within a week Mr. Petersen was bitterly regretting Miss Layne, whom he had ruthlessly, although generously, discharged. He was obliged to admit that Minnie was not bright or quick, and neither was she accurate. She learned to typewrite, but how badly! At figures she was hopeless. She always made mistakes.
“But I know you’ll go over them,” she would say, in regard to her crooked and erroneous columns. “You’re sure to find any mistakes there are.”
He remembered Frances, her capability and intelligence. He asked after her.
“She’s gone out to the Coast,” Minnie told him. “She’s settled out there. I never hear from her.”